Change
by lostariel.merilwen01
Summary: Isabelle, daughter of Sydney and Vaughn, leaves the CIA after the death of her partner. She gets a call from a Dr Suresh, and discovers some things about herself that she didn't know...
1. A Bad Start

**Hi! So, I am here with yet ANOTHER story. I know that it is really stupid of me to start another one, but I can't really help it. As I have said before and will say again, once I get something in my head I have to get it out! :)**

**If you haven't worked it out already, this is a Heroes and Alias crossover, but I am ignoring the fact that Heroes was not made very long after Alias. The time difference is my own making, for the purposes of the story. This will be about 15-20 years after the end of Alias (depending on whether you are counting the end scene with Isabelle being older or not) and about a year after the end of Season 4 of Heroes, only Claire didn't jump and reveal the heroes.**

**I really do apologize to any of my other readers that I have stopped writing "Secrets" for a while, but I think this one will be pretty good and exciting, at least drama wise, but hopefully I can get some action in there too for you all...**

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but the plot and any OCs I choose to bring in. Enjoy!**

"But really, if you examine the situation closely and seriously consider what is going on in the minds of the politicians involved..." The Russian businessman continued to babble on about his country's latest political events, much to the annoyance of the young woman listening.

_Does he ever stop? He's been going on about the same thing for 10 minutes, and that's just talking to me. I swear he's been talking about the same thing for the past two hours, just to different people, _Isabelle, the annoyed companion, thought to herself. She smiled politely and pretended to be interested. She struggled to keep the annoyance off her face, especially when she heard the laugh of her partner for this mission, Samson Walters, laughing through her in ear headphone. Ignoring him, Isabelle tried to remain focused on the businessman, boring as he was, as she needed to keep her cover from being blown.

This mission was quite simple compared to others she had been on before. All she had to do was pose as a young female scientist who had been selected to attend a party being held by a very accomplished Russian doctor to celebrate his success in his latest invention, what was claimed to be a cure for cancer. She had to get to his office (which was somewhere on the 12th floor of the building she was in) sometime during the party and plug a USB into his computer, from which Marshal Flinkman, the CIA's top technological expert, would hack into the network and find out if the research had anything to do with human testing, which had seemed to become a possibility.

At the moment, she was waiting for confirmation from Walters that she was all good to get away and head up to the office. Everything was going as planned. Or so she thought...

* * *

><p>Samson Walters sat in the van parked on the corner near the building where his partner, Isabelle Bristow, was inside, undercover.<p>

_Just another normal day on the job. Or should I say night? _He sighed. He would much rather be inside with Isabelle, right in the middle of the action and ready to spring to her aid should the need arise. But he couldn't, or at least that was what the doctor said.

Walters had been involved in a shooting about 2 months ago, in which he had been shot in the shoulder. He had gotten out alive, thanks to Claire, and surgeons had managed to remove the bullet from his shoulder, but there was still some soreness and he was not allowed back on the field until he was one hundred percent.

And so, he was left sitting in the van, surrounded by computers and technical equipment and unable to do anything other than wait there like a sitting duck.

Looking down at the monitor in front of him, he examined the scene before him. Marshall had managed to get the video from the traffic light camera on the east side of the building, near the entrance, so that Walters could see who was coming in and out of the building at all times. On another monitor above that one, there was footage from a camera the agency had had planted in a tree sometime during the week when the mission was being planned.

All of a sudden, something caught his eye. A middle aged man, walking into the entrance, stopping to apologise to those greeting the guests for the night for being so late do the event, and then walking in. With him was a woman, no more than 25, and two men who were large and somewhat intimidating. Probably security dressed to fit in with the crowd and mingle, but spring into action as soon as the moment called for it. Not only was it strange to bring security to a celebration for this kind of achievement where there would undoubtedly already be security, but Walters also felt as though he knew those faces from somewhere.

He picked up his phone, calling Marshall. "Marshall, this is Walters. You there?"

"Oh, I'll get Marshal for you Sam," a female voice came over the phone, and Walters smiled.

"Thanks Carrie."

"No problem. Here he is now. Marshall, it's Sam for you..."

Walters heard some muffled voices before they stopped and a door shut.

"Marshall, you there?"

"Yeah, I'm here," the slightly stuttering voice replied. "What's up?"

"Can you get the faces of the three guys and girl who just walked into the medical building for me?"

"Sure thing. Just let me check the tape," came the response. There was a pause as Walters heard the tapping of keys, before Marshal spoke. "Are you talking about that one guy with the really sour look on his face, his girlfriend and the henchmen following behind?"

"That'd be the one."

"Okay just give me a second."

Walters waited patiently as Marshal tapped quickly on his keyboard. He was not sure how old the computer whiz was, but he was definitely over 50. His oldest son, Mitchem, was 27, and a good field officer, unlike his father. Marshal was more of an office person, but had also proven to have a large amount of courage in the past. Mitchem just seemed to have more physical abilities than his rather short father.

"Ah, found it. But you're not gonna like what I have got."

"Just tell me Marshal, please. Iz is in there, and I don't want her there with some maniac."

Marshal's eyes widened. "Okay, well, umm, the main man is some kind of big shot donor to the Russian guy's research, and the girl is some random from France that they met through business, it looks like. The security guy on the left is a normal bodyguard, but the one on the right..."

"What is it Marshal?"

"You might have heard of him, and it is slightly possible that you may have seen pictures or videos of him before, but...it's Julien Sark."

"Sark? What the hell is he doing here?"

Marshal raised his hands, though he knew Walters couldn't see him. "Your guess is as good as mine, but there is something strange about him..."

"What? Be quick, Marshal, I have to warn Izzy!" Walters said hurriedly.

"Well, I don't know how to say this, but...he looks exactly like he did back in the days. You know, no grey, young, British..."

"What are you saying Marshal?" He asked impatiently.

"I am saying, that, by the looks of it, Sark hasn't aged a bit."

Walters clenched his jaw. "That doesn't make sense, but I don't have time to debate it now. I have to tell Iz. I'll contact you as soon as possible."

"Okay. Good luck. We can't have anything happening to you young ones."

"Marshal, you're hardly any older than me! Anyway, I'll see you when we get back to LA. See you!"

"Bye Sam! Give my best to Iz."

"Will do," Walters assured him before hanging up and switching his COM on. "Iz, we have a situation..."

* * *

><p>Isabelle nodded and smiled politely once more, even more bored and irritated than ever. Not only was the same man still going, but his brother had joined, and they both seemed very similar. Usually, this would mean that they would talk with one another, thus giving her the chance to escape. But no, they had to try to talk to her. Of course, they gave her no chance to say anything in reply.<p>

Just as she was about to fall asleep on her feet, Walters' voice came over the COM. "Iz, we have a situation. Clear your throat if you can't talk at the moment."

Isabelle put a hand in front of her mouth, coughing daintily a few times before finally clearing her throat. The men frowned at her before continuing with their torturous conversation, but she interrupted them and excused herself, saying that her throat was dry and she had to get some wine to moisten it.

She walked away, listening to her partner intently, but showing no outward signs of doing so.

"Well, I just saw some suspicious people walking through the front door, so I called Marshal to get them identified, and one of them is Sark."

She arrived at the drinks table, and looked around carefully to see that no one was watching or too near, and whispered frantically. "Julien Sark?"

"Yes. And it gets worse. I think he might be here for the same reason you are."

"Why?" She asked quietly as she poured herself a glass of red wine, smiling politely at someone across the room who had been watching her.

"Well, I can't think of any other reason currently."

"Maybe he just wants to have a fun night out?"

"I doubt it highly. If he wanted a fun night, he would've gone to club. It's more his style."

"Well, what does he look like?"

"Have you never seen pictures of him?"

"Not really. I have heard stories and descriptions, but my parents tried to keep me safe from him as much as possible I think, which to them meant keeping me far away from any cases to do with him."

"Probably. Well, he is dressed in a nice black suit with a dark blue tie, striped I think. He has blue eyes, but I only know that from descriptions and such back at the office. He has blonde hair, short and spiked."

"I think I can see him," she carefully checked the reflection in her glass before sipping it and walking slowly toward the edge of the room, eventually arriving in a small corner where she leaned against the wall, crossing one heeled foot over the other in a relaxed and slightly bored pose.

"Really? What is he doing?" Walters asked curiously, but was scared for his friend at the same time. There was an extraction team ready, and her life wasn't technically in direct danger yet, but he couldn't shake the bad feeling he had had all night, and was determined to protect the young agent, no matter what it took.

"Well, you have to promise not to get mad."

"Why would I get mad, Iz? Just tell me," he pleaded.

"He's staring at me."

"What?"

"Sark is staring at me."

"What kind of stare is it?" Walters asked, and Isabelle had to use much self control to not yell at him. Not only would it temporarily deafen him through the COM system, but it would also be a bit suspicious seeing as she was standing by herself.

"What do you mean what kind of stare is it?"

"Well, is it a _I can't wait to put a bullet in her head _kind of stare, or a _I think I'll ask her out, she's pretty _kind of stare."

"I think it's a mix of both."

"Do elaborate," Walters said thoughtfully, but a little over the top and dramatic at the same time as he stroked his chin and squinted his eyes.

"Well, he kind of looks like he is studying me actually, and then there is this gleam in his eye too. Is there anyone else that could look similar to Sark, and could mean that you have him mistaken?" Isabelle asked her partner.

"No."

"You're sure?"

"I wouldn't have said no if I wasn't sure. Besides, I got the information from Marshall, and I think he knows Sark pretty well."

"True," she admitted, sipping her drink.

"The speech is soon, so you might be able to slip out then. Make sure you look out for Sark, he might be here for the same thing."

"I doubt he would be here to find out if they were testing on humans. It's more likely that he was a part of the whole thing than him being against it."

"Well, he could be a part of it and have gotten word form a source that the CIA would be checking it out, and come to the celebration in order to make sure nothing went wrong and the CIA wouldn't obtain any information that would be unhelpful to him. But, him being here is also a pretty big risk for him, seeing as he is currently number 2 on the CIA's most wanted list, only after the homicidal freak that cuts the tops of people's heads off and takes their brains, Skyler or whatever."

"Sylar."

"Whatever. Anyway, it is pretty dangerous for him to be here, especially if he knows the CIA will be present. It's just a disaster waiting to happen for him. We could grab him here and now."

"But that would mean risking me blowing my cover, and also alerting any people that the CIA were monitoring an event in Russia, and I don't think the Russians would be too happy about that."

"We could just say that the CIA got word from a reliable source. We don't have to say that we hacked into their surveillance system and sat inside their city monitoring one of the biggest events."

"It would look pretty bad. They might think we are trying to steal their research."

"But we kind of are."

"For a good reason."

"They might not see it that way."

"True."

"You know, you say that a lot. It's almost like you're admitting that I am right, but I know you would never do that."

"Well you do know me very well my friend."

"Well, I like to think so-"

He was cut off by Isabelle's hushed voice. "He is coming toward me, Sam."

"Sit tight, I am coming in."

"No! Don't you dare. You are back up for a reason. You are not fully recovered, and it is dangerous for you to be in this environment. The sound of gunshot could send you into a flashback, causing you to freeze, or any number of things could happen..." She trailed off as she saw Sark getting closer, and she pretended to not have noticed him.

"I won't come in, but I need you to cough 2 times if you are sure that everything is alright, and 3 times if there is something a little wrong and you need me to be careful, and 4 times if you need me to call an extraction team and come in and rescue you. And I urge you to use the 4th one at the slightest sign of danger, okay?"

Unable to reply, Isabelle fought the urge to nod and instead looked surprised to see Sark standing before her. "Umm, hi, can I help you?"

There was a moment of silence as Sark watched her, and locked eyes with her, watching her all over making her feel annoyed, but she didn't show it.

"I was just wanting to come over and speak with you. I saw how those men were boring you on the way in, and thought you might appreciate some intelligent company."

"And you think you're the one to give it? How very modest of you."

Sark frowned and cleared his throat. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Jason Smithers. It is nice to meet you..." he trailed off, not knowing her name and waiting for her to supply it.

"Julie Sands. It's nice to meet you. You're American," she commented, though she knew he wasn't. She was being an American as the crowd gathered was full of people from all corners of the earth, and it would be easier to pull of the alias.

"As are you," Sark replied, smiling at her, extending his hand to her and she placed hers in his as he kissed it. She frowned, and looked a little confused. "I apologize if you were not expecting that, but it is a custom here, and for the purpose of fitting in with the crowd, I thought that-"

"It's fine, really. So, Mr Smithers-"

"Call me Jason. Really."

"Well, then you are to call me Julie. Anyway, what brings you here to this prestigious event?"

"Well, my friend was invited, and told he could bring a few people, and, well...here I am. What about you?"

"Oh, I am a scientist. Sort of. I like to think of myself as more of a researcher, as I am not into the whole lab coat and nerd glasses."

"Well, I think that is probably wise of you. You look much better in purple," he grinned almost cheekily, indicating the dress she was wearing. It was a long halterneck silk dress that was lavender with silver swirls to match her earrings and necklace. She wore a blonde wig, and the hair was pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck, but two long strands were left out at the front to line her face.

"Thank you, but I'll have you know that white actually suits me far better, I just do not approve of the style and cut of a simple lab coat," she informed him, quite incorrectly of course. She really didn't care, in actual fact. For a person who was much more comfortable in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, she loathed the current conversation and inwardly vowed to change the subject as soon as she could.

"I agree. You do look rather fetching in that gown," he praised her, and she smiled at him, groaning inwardly.

"Thank you," she smiled almost bashfully. "You don't look so bad yourself," she replied flirtatiously, wincing internally at how horrible she sounded, even to her own ears.

Sark seemed to take no notice, and instead continued to speak to her. "What was the man talking about so much anyway?"

"Oh, some political thing to do with Russia. I wasn't really listening."

"You looked like you were," he commented, and she frowned.

"I thought you came over here because he was boring me and you thought I could do with some intelligent conversation? How would you know that he was boring me if I looked like I was listening?"

"You looked as though you were listening, but to me it seemed that you weren't all that interested."

"How so?" She asked, an eyebrow raised as she sipped her wine.

"Well, you played with your hair, and you had a faraway look in your eyes, like you were thinking about something entirely different. And then you pretended to cough and used that excuse to escape, so I merely assumed..." he trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished.

"That I was never interested in the first place and was merely trying to be polite? You assumed correctly, Jason."

He smiled rather smugly at her use of his name. "So, what part of America are you from?"

Isabelle was about to smile and reply when she saw something that made her want to scream. There, standing in the corner, looking perfectly normal in every way, was Walters. He had come prepared to enter in the case of an emergency, but she had been determined to keep him in the van and as far away from the action as she possibly could. He had a family, for God's sake, and he was still recovering!

"Julia?"

"Hmm?" she came to attention quickly and realized that she hadn't answered for quite some time. "Oh, I am from Texas. A small research facility over there."

"You don't have an accent," he commented, raising his own eyebrow this time as though to mock her.

"Well, I didn't grow up there. I grew up in...well, around the place."

"Around what place?"

"The world...my, umm, my parents are very freedom-loving, and they tend to get a kick out of just moving around the place all the time. My brother and I have both settled down, and they decided to as well, since it soon become apparent that my brother and I were missing a lot in terms of socialization, seeing as we have been home schooled. The decided it was time to settle down when I finished my course work for Year 12, and thought that we should all stay in the same place so I could go to university and all that sort of thing."

He nodded, accepting it as an answer as he continued to stare at her.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Isabelle asked suddenly, after a moment of silence.

"Like what?"

"Like I am an interesting specimen that you are studying?"

"Well, it just so happens that you remind me of someone I know."

"Really? Well, I would love to stay and chat, but I just spotted an old friend that I haven't seen in a while, so I just want to go say hi. Please excuse me," she said, hoping he would just forget about her and continue on with his night. She turned and walked quickly across the room, feeling his eyes follow her wherever she went, and she walked straight to where Walters stood, giving him a big hug with a pleased but surprised look on her face.

"Oh, it's so good to see you! It has been so long!" She leaned forward to embrace him again, harder this time, and as she did so she hissed in his ear. "What are you doing here?"

She pulled away, keeping the smile on her face as they walked a little further away from the crowd and stood in a corner where they could only be seen, but not heard. They kept their fake smiles on throughout their entire conversation, though it was more of an argument.

"I can't believe you did this!"

"Well, you didn't leave me much of a choice. Sark is here, which means you are in danger, and it is my responsibility to look after you no matter what happens."

"I wish you wouldn't-"

"Ladies and gentlemen," the booming voice sounded. "If you would please gather around the stage to listen to our savior, Luka Miroslav, as he gives his much anticipated speech this evening."

Men and women from around the room gathered around the raised stage as the old Russian man stood to speak, and Isabelle turned to her friend and partner. "That's my cue. Now, I am not happy with you being here, but I am thankful that you came to help me. Now, be quiet and lay low. I don't want to have another trip to the hospital and then spend hours waiting nervously wondering if my best friend was going to see another sunrise, am I clear?"

He nodded, giving her a smile. "Stay safe Iz."

She nodded slightly before checking to see if anyone was watching, and once she was satisfied, she slipped through the curtains that had been hung for the event and slid along the wall behind them. They were made of thick, heavy velvet, and she fought the urge to sneeze as she snuck around, skilfully dodging the guards that were distracted as they watched the speech.

Once she was away from the people, she ran through the corridors and soon found the door that led to the stairs. Pushing on it, she ran as fast as she could up the stairs, pulling out her cell phone and dialing Marshall as she went.

"Iz, is that you?" the voice came from the other end.

"Hey Marshall. I am heading up the stairs now. I'll need the cameras on the top floor put on a loop in a few minutes."

"Sure, I got it all ready, so just let me know when you want me to do it."

Gritting her teeth at the pain in her legs from her ridiculous heels, she bent down and pulled them off, holding them in her left hand and using her right to hold her cell to her ear, grateful for Marshall's support. He was very helpful on missions, especially when technology was involved. Together, he and Rachel Gibson could hack into any system necessary. That, and, he was silent as she got up there, knowing she needed to concentrate. For someone that liked to talk as much as Marshall, it was an achievement for sure.

Shaking her head and clearing unnecessary thoughts, Isabelle concentrated on get up the stairs as fast as she possibly could. It was no small feat, to run all the way up 20 storeys worth of stairs, and by the time she reached the top her legs were burning and she was covered in a layer of sweat. She was in shape, but she was no fitness freak.

She took a deep breath and picked up her cell phone.

"Hey Marshall, I am at the top of the stairs now. Could you possibly deal with the cameras now for me?"

"Sure Iz. Just give me sec here...and..." Isabelle heard the unmistakable tapping of keys as the genius worked. "Done! You are now clear for at least 15 minutes. Go do your thing and let me know when you want me to do mine."

She ran as fast as she could, glad that she didn't have to dodge security cameras. She soon found herself at the doctor's office, and pulled her lock breaking kit from her hand bag, selecting the needed tools and slotting them into the lock, jiggling them around, Since this was an invite only event, it was not expected that people would try to break in or anything, seeing as all that were invited were well known and had been checked out, so the security necessary was pretty normal. Isabelle couldn't help but let out a little grin as the lock clicked and she found the door easy to push open. For supposedly intelligent doctors, they weren't very smart.

Crossing the room silently, she took in her surroundings, and possible exits in case of emergencies. But she really hoped that the exit would be just a simple and easy as the entry, and the vent and window would not be necessary.

The room was larger than any office she had ever seen, and the doctor was obviously well off, as there were many personal items that were brought in that showed not only good taste but a lot of money. Either that or they were cheap knock offs from the corner store. Either way, he was either really smart or really rich. Or both.

The chair at the large, oak desk was leather, and looked very comfortable. She wondered why it would have to be, seeing as this doctor apparently had spent hours of each day in the lab, on one of the lower floors, working on the cancer cure. He wouldn't have had much time to spend up here, if it all!

But, then again, all his research was on the computer, and that thought brought Isabelle back to her original mission, and she sat herself in the chair, being careful not to touch or rearrange anything that could be noticed.

She dug her hand in her hang bag, pulling out plastic gloves, and she put them onto her hands to avoid leaving fingerprints behind her. She pushed the power button carefully, and waited for the computer to start up before plugging in the USB drive from her hand bag. She the picked up her cell once more. "Marshall, the USB is plugged in. You're all good."

"Alright, just give me a sec."

She crossed her legs and waited for a moment, before the hacker's voice came over the phone. "I got in, Iz. I'll just put the monitoring program on-"

"Monitoring program?" She asked, obviously confused.

"Oh, you mustn't have heard about that. We decided that there wasn't any time to go through everything, so I have hacked into the network via the USB and basically tapped into any communication network, phones, email, etc, and we can view all their records whenever we want. By the way, I'm done. You can unplug the drive now and get the hell out of there."

"Thanks Marshall. One day you'll have to explain to me how you do all these things."

"Well, I would love to, but I don't think you'd be so interested. Anyway, we can have this discussion some other time. Get out of there!"

"Thanks again," she told him before hanging up, unplugging the USB and shutting the computer down, heading out of the room and closing the door behind her. She walked quickly, but didn't bother to run. She was filled with the adrenaline from the mission, and was full of joy at their success.

* * *

><p>"It was quite a difficult process, but once I found myself able to really examine the differences between the two..."<p>

Walters had to stifle a yawn at the boring speech, and soon found that he couldn't remain in the room any longer. Making it look natural, he slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, turning it on and examining the screen. He made sure no one was able to see the screen, and went to the alarm options, setting it to sound two minutes from then. He slipped it back into his pocket, and pretended to focus on the speech once more.

What felt like years later, but was in fact only two minutes, the alarm went off, and he pulled it out of his pocket, looking surprised. Well, pretending to look surprised. He flipped the phone open, and spoke into it. "Hello, this is Samson Maro speaking, how may I help you?" As expected, there was no reply, but he nodded and said, "Alright, just give me minute to get outside."

He slipped through the crowds, glad to have been able to think up a way to get an excuse to get out. He showed the guards his invitation and they saw the phone he was holding, and they let him out onto the street where he pretended to keep speaking into the phone until he was out of listening distance. He had received Isabelle's message, and knew that it wouldn't take long for her to get out. Sark was obviously there for something other than the information, and the mission looked like it was going smoothly. Something felt off, but he wasn't sure exactly what it was yet...

Suddenly, his eye caught on something that he didn't expect. Parked on the corner, right in the shadows, was a black van, not too different to the one he had been sitting in just twenty minutes previously. Frowning, he stuck to the shadows and approached the van from the opposite side. It took a while to get there, but for the sake of stealth and secrecy, the long way around had to be taken.

Once he eventually reached the van, he looked inside as best he could from where he was hidden behind a tree. He could see a driver, sitting in the driver's seat ready to drive off at a moment's notice. There could have been other men inside, but he wasn't sure. But he had to be, for the sake of the mission.

Making a decision, he moved back a little and surveyed his surroundings. Biting his lip, he knew what he had to do.

Stepping toward the tree, he gripped the bark, pulling himself up. His arm screamed in protest, but he grit his teeth and ignored it. He managed to get up to the top branches, which weren't that far for a tree deliberately planted on the street in the middle of a city, and stretched his leg across the gap between the tree and the windowsill of the second floor of the building beside him. Once he managed to get completely on that, he shimmied himself along, making sure the tree hid from the driver's view as much as possible.

Eventually, he managed to get himself to the corner of the building, still hidden from view thanks to the angle of the tree. Then, he carefully and very slowly moved forward so he cold see through the windscreen of the van properly, and looked past the driver, who was now speaking to someone in the back of the van.

All Walters could see was a lot of lights from computer screens, and the two silhouettes in the back of it. Squinting, he looked carefully, finding himself wishing that his camping binoculars would have fitted into the jacket pocket of his tuxedo. All he could see was the driver and two unidentified men in the back, but all he really needed to know was that the computers were there. That meant that they were there to do something at the building, and they could be a danger to Isabelle.

Leaning back against the wall, Walters managed to put his hand up to his ear, switching on the COM...

* * *

><p>She soon made it to the stairs, but before her feet even touched them she heard the panicked voice of her partner from her COM link.<p>

"Iz, we...uh, we have a problem."

"What is it Sam?" she asked, frowning.

"Sark brought back up. They're sitting outside in a van, right near ours,"

She let out a rather unladylike curse. "How many of them are there?"

"Three, I think. I can see through the windscreen."

"Where are you?"

"You do not want to know."

"Okay, I do not want to know. I am coming now, and I'll be there as soon as I possibly can, okay?"

"I think I can take them," Walters suggested, and Isabelle's eyes widened.

"What? No!"

"Iz, think about it. I have a gun, and the element of surprise. I can get them!"

"Sam, you are still in recovery. If it were up to me, you would still be at a desk. You were involved in a shooting just months ago, and as I said before being involved in another one could be damaging-"

"Iz, I am taking my COM out now. You can't stop me. They are here for a reason, and I can't let them hurt you. Your father would kill me, and I don't even want to think of what your mother would do to me!"

"Sam, you can't do this! Please don't-" She stopped as there was a big bang, the a woosh, and a crunch and she knew that her mission partner had destroyed his COM. _Crap. _

* * *

><p>Samson ignored the twinge in his heart as he threw the in ear head piece to the ground and nimbly jumped down onto it. He then reached into his jacket and pulled out the hand gun he had been given for this particular mission, and then moved around so he was facing the van.<p>

There was a flash of confusion across the face of the driver as he saw the unknown figure step in front of the van, but while the figure may have been unknown to him, the shape of the gun in his hands was unmistakable. The man's eyes widened as he realized just what said gun was pointed at, and there was a moment of silence before he was able to scream a warning to his companions.

The next thing he knew the glass before him exploded, and then he knew no more.

Walters felt horrible about what he was doing, but knew that there was no other way. Isabelle was almost like a daughter to him, and these men were a danger to her. With that in mind, he stepped to the side of the van, keeping his gun pointed at it the entire time.

There was complete silence from inside the vehicle. And then the door began to open slowly, and a. accented voice came from within. "We mean no harm!" It was shaky, and obviously afraid. "Please don't hurt us! We'll do anything!"

His mouth set in a grim line, Walters walked forward toward the van. "Get out with your hands in the air! Now!"

The two men came out together, and Walters was shocked at their ages. They were young, much younger than he had expected. They both look more like they were Isabelle's age, and it broke his heart to see people of that age in such a business as this.

"What were you doing? Tell me now!"

"W-we were just waiting for a friend to come out of there!"

His brow creased. "The event finishes in an hour. How long did you think you would be waiting?"

"Our friend was only going to be in there for a little bit. He was going to leave after the speech was over! I swear!" The same man answer all the questions, and it was obvious that the other was far too overwhelmed to do anything.

"What is his name? Where is he now?" Walters demanded, but he was distracted from their answer when he heard voices shouting as security guards ran from the building and out onto the street, holding their guns up.

* * *

><p>Isabelle ignored the great pain in her legs and leapt down the stairs, taking them three at a time, jarring her legs each time. She had to reach out to the rails to keep herself from falling down, and her heels were in her hand once more. Her tongue poked at her cheek as she concentrated on not overbalancing and tumbling over, thus breaking her neck and leaving herself unable to find and help Walters.<p>

Eventually, after what seemed years, she managed to get to the bottom of the stairs. Running as fast as she could, she shoved the back door open, just in time to hear a gunshot and the sound of glass breaking.

* * *

><p>"Положите пистолет и руки вверх!" The lead guard demanded, and Walters replied as fast as he could. <em>(Put the gun down and your hands up!)<em>

"Не стреляйте, пожалуйста!" He yelled. "Эти люди являются преступниками! Я делаю правильно!" _(Don't shoot, please! These men are criminals! I am doing the right thing!)_

_"PUT ружье!" (PUT THE GUN DOWN!)_

_"Я американской полиции! Эти люди плохие и попытался ранить друг мой! Я не собираюсь делать им больно!" _He exclaimed in reply, and the guards relaxed a little. _(I am American police! These men are bad and tried to hurt my friend! I am not going to hurt them!)_

The conversation (if you could call it that) between the police and the CIA agent came to a halt as one of the men in question spoke. "Do you speak English?" He asked the guards.

They looked at him, and the lead one replied, but kept his gun focused on Walters. "Yes."

The man relaxed. "Thank God. I am just here from Australia, and I don't speak the language. I am a student, not a criminal! We both are. I swear, this must all be a mistake!"

Walters cursed inwardly as he watched the guard relax also, and look at the two other men without hostility in his eyes. The guard then turned back to Walters and spoke. "Вы американец? Вы говорите по-английски?"

"Yes, I speak English. I have the accent too! Please, do not shoot. I am trying to capture two dangerous criminals!"

"We are not criminals! We are students from Australia, here for a visit with our friend! He is inside, and we are waiting for him to come out so we can take him home!"

"You have proof?" The guard asked, and the man nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes! I have my passport here, with my name and everything! Here you go." He reached inside his jacket, and the other did the same, and it was then that Walters knew without a doubt that they were not students.

Somehow he knew...and he closed his eyes, knowing what was to come.

* * *

><p>She finally manages to find the scene at which all the action was taking place, and Isabelle ran up to it, seeing Walters and two other men surrounded by guards.<p>

"We are not criminals!" She heard an Australian accent yell. "We are students from Australia, here for a visit with our friend! He is inside, and we are waiting for him to come out so we can take him home!"

"You have proof?" One of the guards asked in a Russian accent, but his English was quite good. From the looks of things, he was the one that called all the shots in the group of men, as he was standing in front of everyone else, and was doing all the talking.

"Yes! I have my passport here, with my name and everything! Here you go." She watched as the two hands of the men reached inside their jackets...

Her heart stopped beating and he mouth opened, unable to scream. She watched as, in the blink of an eye, both men pulled guns out of their clothing at the same time, and, without any thought for the fact that they were surrounded by men with guns, they aimed and shot her partner.

**So, there is the first chapter of Change! I hope you like it so far, as I am really working hard on this one! I hope to have the next chapter up as soon as possible, alright?**

**Also, I just want to let any Russians know that I looked everything up on google translate, so I apologize if it doesn't do your language justice. I, personally, love Russian and would love to learn it one day! :)**

**Please leave a review and let me know what you think! Reviews equal more inspiration and faster updates! XD**


	2. Grief

**Hi! So, here I am with the second chapter! I hope you all enjoyed the last one, and I am sorry if I left it on a bit of a cliffy...I also do apologize that this chapter jumps around a bit, but I hope you can keep up with it all. :)**

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, except the plot and any OCs I choose to bring in. ENJOY! XD**

* * *

><p>"Sam was a a good husband, a good father, and above all, a good man. His lighthearted yet determined attitude was a blessing to all who knew him, and his kindness reached further than he knew. He cared for everyone, and everything, and held life as something sacred," the woman paused, biting her lip and holding back her tears. Her greying blonde hair was pulled in a bun, but strands fell to her face. Her face was well worn, as though it spent most of it's time smiling, but her cloudy grey eyes suggested otherwise. Taking a deep breath, Ademia continued.<p>

"When we first met, I was in my first year of college, and he was in his last. Being the person he was, he immediately saw that I was completely overwhelmed, so he helped me, and we became fast friends, and then much more as time went on.

"I will miss him always, as he was my husband, and I shall always love him. Though it breaks my heart to do so, I must farewell the one with whom I have shared many long years, and long nights. He has been taken from me, but I will not mourn for his loss, for it is merely a temporary separation. Sam was always a religious man, as am I, and we truly believe that one day we will see each other again, but in a better place." Taking yet another shaky breath, the woman gave a sad smile. "I would now like to ask a young woman who is like a daughter to both Sam and I, Isabelle Vaughn, to come and speak."

Isabelle stood from where she sat and made her way up to the front of the old church, feeling the eyes of her friends and family on her. When she reached the stage, she gave Ademia a big hug, holding her for longer than usual, before releasing her and walking in front of all the people. She waited until her friend had sat down, before she began to speak. "Uh, hi. For those of you who don't know me, my name is Isabelle, and I worked with Sam. We were best friends, and, well, I guess it's kind of strange considering I am a young woman and he was much older, but I guess to me he was always a mix of a protective big brother and a crazy uncle.

"I have had to write, prepare and perform many speeches before in my life, but, well, I never thought I would have to do one without Sam there to help me get ideas. He would help me with anything, and I always knew I could depend on him. I don't think I can honestly say that I know what I am saying or doing up here, but I just know that I have to do this.

"Samson Walters and I first met when I began training at the bank we work at. At first everything was hard and overwhelming for me, even though I had spent much of my life waiting to be able to start working there. I didn't know how things worked, or what to do, and I guess since my parents both worked there it was expected that I would know everything. Sam, he, well, he saw that it was hard for me, and, much like helped Mia when she started college, he helped me. He taught me what was what, and how things worked, and explained everything to me. But, more than that, he taught me all these things but still managed to treat as an equal, not a child. The age difference didn't matter, we were friends, and then best friends.

"He made sure I met his wife and kids, and I loved them all the moment I met them. I remember thinking that Mia was just how Sam had said she was, and the kids were just as sweet and smart. He gave me more family, and I love them all so much." She looked up and met the eyes of Ademia, who sat with her two children in the front row. The shared a meaningful look, before Isabelle went back to her speech.

"For me, Sam meant so much. I never imagined that there would be a time when he wouldn't be there to hold my hand, to help me cry, to give me inspiration and ideas. He protected me, but at the same time he taught me how to protect myself. I am, and always will be, indebted to him for everything he did for me and so many others. I guess this is the part where I say that I will never forget him, but I couldn't if I tried. He is just as much a part of me as anything, and there will never be a moment when I forget him."

Tears finally flowed down her cheeks, and she stepped back and off the stage as the band began to play a few of Sam's favorite songs, that he had actually specifically requested be played at his funeral.

Walking over to where he parents were now standing, she embraced them each gently, before standing at her seat. The whole group of people gathered sang and swayed to the song, eyes closed, remembering Samson as they sang.

_Three little birds, sat on my window._  
><em>And they told me I don't need to worry.<em>  
><em>Summer came like cinnamon<em>  
><em>So sweet,<em>  
><em>Little girls double-dutch on the concrete.<em>

_Maybe sometimes, we've got it wrong, but it's alright_  
><em>The more things seem to change, the more they stay the same<em>  
><em>Oh, don't you hesitate.<em>

_Girl, put your records on, tell me your favourite song_  
><em>You go ahead, let your hair down<em>  
><em>Sapphire and faded jeans, I hope you get your dreams,<em>  
><em>Just go ahead, let your hair down.<em>

_You're gonna find yourself somewhere, somehow._

_Blue as the sky, sunburnt and lonely,_  
><em>Sipping tea in a bar by the roadside,<em>  
><em>(just relax, just relax)<em>  
><em>Don't you let those other boys fool you,<em>  
><em>Got to love that afro hair do.<em>

_Maybe sometimes, we feel afraid, but it's alright_  
><em>The more you stay the same, the more they seem to change.<em>  
><em>Don't you think it's strange?<em>

_Girl, put your records on, tell me your favourite song_  
><em>You go ahead, let your hair down<em>  
><em>Sapphire and faded jeans, I hope you get your dreams,<em>  
><em>Just go ahead, let your hair down.<em>

_You're gonna find yourself somewhere, somehow._

_'Twas more than I could take, pity for pity's sake_  
><em>Some nights kept me awake, I thought that I was stronger<em>  
><em>When you gonna realise, that you don't even have to try any longer?<em>  
><em>Do what you want to.<em>

_Girl, put your records on, tell me your favourite song_  
><em>You go ahead, let your hair down<em>  
><em>Sapphire and faded jeans, I hope you get your dreams,<em>  
><em>Just go ahead, let your hair down.<em>

_Girl, put your records on, tell me your favourite song_  
><em>You go ahead, let your hair down<em>  
><em>Sapphire and faded jeans, I hope you get your dreams,<em>  
><em>Just go ahead, let your hair down.<em>

_Oh, you're gonna find yourself somewhere, somehow_

Though it was intended to be a happy song, Isabelle couldn't contain the sobs that racked her frame as she remembered all the joking arguments she and Sam had used to have about the song, and how it was a girly song, yet he loved it so much. She would often tease him, and he would just shake his head at her, smiling annoyingly.

The song ended, and others such as 'Walking On Sunshine' and 'MmmBop', and Isabelle knew that she would never be able to hear any of them again and not cry.

* * *

><p>The night, Isabelle lay in bed, staring into the darkness as the tears flowed in and he sobs echoed in the silence.<p>

_Why did this happen? _Isabelle didn't understand. Sam was a good man. He wasn't perfect, but he was closer than a lot of people. Of everyone around the world, he was the one that died.

_How could I have let this happen? __I could have saved him. If I had just gone faster, tried harder, then maybe Ethan and Maddy would still have a father..._

Though she knew that self pity would achieve nothing, she couldn't help it. All she could think of was what happened that night...

* * *

><p><em>Three nights previously...<em>

Her heart stopped beating and he mouth opened, unable to scream. She watched as, in the blink of an eye, both men pulled guns out of their clothing at the same time, and, without any thought for the fact that they were surrounded by men with guns, they aimed and shot her partner.

Sam's mouth opened as though he wanted to say something, but nothing came out, and he fell to his knees, looking down at himself in disbelief. There, in his chest, was three bullets. He placed his hand against himself, trying to put pressure on the wounds, and the men saw that he was still breathing and aimed their guns to shoot again.

The guards were shocked, and some tried to react and stop the men, but it seemed that the men were the only ones with control over the situation, as the guards hardly seemed to know how to handle their own weapons.

Thankfully, Isabelle was able to think quickly. Ripping her gun from her bag, she dropped everything but her weapon from her hands and ran onto the street to get a clearer shot. And, with two pulls of her index finger, one of the men was dead and the other had a big hole in his shoulder. She then shot him once more in the leg, making sure he couldn't run away. Then, ignoring all the guards around her, she ran to Sam were he was on his knees on the ground.

"SAM! Oh, God, no..." her hands shook, and she put them on his chest, pushing onto the wounds, but then saw the still living man try to get his gun. In a bout of fury, she leaped up, crossing over to him in a few long strides. Before his fingers could even touch the fallen weapon, her foot slammed into his face as she leaped into the air. Next, she kicked the gun all the way to the other side of the street, and kneed the man in the head once more, and he slumped unconscious onto the ground.

Without even checking to see if was still alive or not, Isabelle ran to her partner, who was now lying down and gasping for air.

"Sam! Stay with me, okay. Come on, stay awake for me. You're going to be fine! SOMEBODY CALL AN AMBULANCE, NOW!" She heard the sound of people dialing, and talking desperately into their phones. It didn't seem to dawn on anyone that they were standing right outside a hospital. "Sam, please, say something to me!"

"You told me..." he trailed off and coughed violently, his body trembling, and blood sprayed from his mouth and onto Isabelle's face and dress but she ignored it. "Y-you t-told me you didn't wan-nt to wait-t in a h-hospital to s-see if I would m-make it..."

"It's okay, Sam. I'll wait forever for you, I promise. Just hold on, they're nearly here!"

"'s okay Belle." Isabelle sobbed as he used her nickname fondly. You don't have to wait for me...t-tell...tell Mia...tell her I l-love her..." he managed to gasp, and tears ran down Isabelle's cheeks as she held him tightly, his blood staining her purple dress crimson.

"Just hold on, Sam, please! SAM!" The all too familiar whine of an ambulance came from the distance, and sooner than Isabelle thought was possible, paramedics were at her side, speaking in heavily accented english. But they were too late.

Not that that occurred to them. They hauled the body up onto the portable bed they rolled out of the vehicle, and tried to resuscitate the agent, but they were too late.

And, as Isabelle realized this, she glanced around into the distance, unable to look at her dead friend. And she met a pair of all too familiar eyes in the distance. Standing alone, right on the corner, was Julien Sark.

Sark gave her once nod, as though to encourage her to keep going, before stuffing his hands in is jacket pockets and walking away.

Isabelle's whole body screamed at her to run after him, but her legs had turned to jelly as she heard the paramedics pronounce her friend dead. She opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out, and she fell to her knees as silent sobs racked her body.

* * *

><p><em>Present time, the morning after Sam's funeral...<em>

Groaning, Isabelle sat up in her bed and looked around. She had finally managed to fall asleep after much crying the previous night, and her face was still red and puffy.

It was a Monday, and usually she would have work, either at the office or out in the field, but she had been given two weeks off, and when she got back she would be stuck at a desk for possibly months. She didn't like it, but she knew it was necessary. If an agent was involved in a shooting and a fellow agent was injured or killed, the surviving agent would be assigned to a desk until the psychologist for that unit though they were ready to go out into the field once more.

She somehow got the feeling that wouldn't be for a while, especially seeing as her parents had a lot of power and control in their unit, and if it were up to them she would be behind a desk forever.

Iz rolled out of bed and half walked half stumbled to the bathroom, but she woke up when she saw herself in the mirror. She didn't even look like herself! Her skin was pale, making her light freckles stand out even more. Her lips were swollen from her biting them all the time, in an effort to release anxiety and grief. But her eyes were the most different feature of all...

They were usually a bright green, just like her father's, and were surrounded by thick lashes, but not anymore. They seemed duller, and empty of life. They were extremely bloodshot, and were surrounded with dark rings that faded into redness where she had rubbed her eyes the night before. She reached up to touch her cheek, but hissed in pain as a her palm began to sting. She looked down at it, only to discover that her medium length nails had dug into them and made long, gouges in the skin. She hadn't even noticed at the time.

She bent down and opened the cupboard door under the sink, and pulled out the First Aid box. She rolled bandages over her hands, and ended up looking as though she was wearing big, white mitts. She swore inwardly as she found herself unable to do much, but eventually managed to put the box away, though it was still very painful to hold things.

Of course, at this most inconvenient moment, the phone decided to ring.

She swore once more, (something she didn't usually do, but found herself doing more and more often lately, due to the circumstances), and ran to the kitchen, where the phone was plugged in. She managed to pull it out, and push the button, and put it to her ear. "Hello?"

"Hi Iz!" A happy voice came over the phone, and Isabelle smiled halfheartedly.

"Hey Mom."

"How are you feeling sweetheart?"

"Umm, I am fine."

"You don't sound so sure. Are you?"

Isabelle sighed. Nothing escaped her mother. "It will keep."

"Until when? You know you have to let things out, honey. Sam's death has had a huge effect on you, and-"

"Sam's death had had more than a hug effect, Mom. My life is upside down. I don't know what to do with myself anymore, and nothing is going to change that. You will always need something or someone to fix, Mom. But I will not let you fix me."

"Isabelle, getting over this doesn't mean you have to forget Sam. I understand he was a good friend, but-"

"A good friend? A good_friend_? Mom, you know _nothing_. He was my brother, father, uncle and best friend all in one. I haven't lost one person. I have lost my life! Everything that kept me going was in him, because I was stupid enough to depend on one person, and one person only."

"Iz, you can depend on me-"

"Yeah right. Until another threat of global destruction comes from a mad man. You have no time for me, Mom, and neither does Dad. Jack is good for a laugh or two, but other than that, I was alone! And now I am again."

There was a silence from the other end of the phone, and Isabelle was truly crying by now. "I'm sorry, Mom, I didn't mean to take it out on you. I just...I don't know."

"It's hard, Iz. I know. But you will get through this. You are so strong, baby girl."

"If you say so."

"Iz, actually, I was calling to invite you over for dinner tomorrow night. It's been a while since we had a nice, family dinner, and I thought it would be good for you."

Isabelle bit her tongue, trying to fight off the angry reply that had formed in her throat. "Sure. I'll try and make it. What time?"

"Any time after 7 should be fine."

"Okay. Well, I have to go now. Bye Mom." Without waiting for an answer, Isabelle hung up the phone and let out a huge sigh.

Getting along with her mother had always been a difficult thing. The woman was much too focused on her own affairs for Isabelle's liking, and her father was the same. That they loved her was obvious, but they did not act upon it as much as the young woman would have liked. As a child, she had been smothered and protected, so when she had gone out into the big, wide word, she had been overwhelmed, and, as the child of the great Michael Vaughn and the even greater Sydney Bristow, everyone had expected perfection from her.

Well, everyone but Sam.

* * *

><p><em>The next night...<em>

Isabelle swung her car into her parent's driveway, wincing once more at the pain in her palms. The gouges in her skin refused to heal, and remained red, angry and open. She had put bandaids on them all in an attempt to make things easier to pick up and handle, but the lack of cushioning meant she felt every little thing when she touched it with her hands.

She managed to tug the door handle open with her fingertips, and shouldered her handbag before getting out. She then slammed the door shut with her hip and locked it with her wireless key.

She walked up the front steps, but before she could knock or ring the doorbell her mother opened the door, all smiles. Until she saw her daughter, that is. She just stopped her jaw from dropping as she took in Isabelle's appearance, and saw the pale skin and dark rings around her eyes. It was obvious that Isabelle had tried to hide the rings wit make up, but they were still visible.

She was skinnier than she had ever been, and it had all happened in a matter of days. She looked almost unsteady on her feet, and Sydney fought the impulse to reach out and help her stand.

Swallowing her pity, Sydney put a smile back on her face. "Hey sweetie, come on in!"

"Hey," Isabelle replied, giving a smile, though she did not feel happy at all.

She walked into the house that she had spent some of her life in, and set her handbag down in a corner. It was a family sized house, but had become a lot different to what i had been when she lived there. The furniture had been changed, and the whole theme of the house was now white, black and red. It was nice, but it gave the whole hose a sort of strict feeling, like if you messed anything up there would be hell to pay.

"Come on through to the kitchen, Iz," Sydney smiled and put her hand on her daughter's back, guiding her through the home.

_It's not as though I don't know my own way, _Isabelle complained to herself, but managed to stop herself from voicing what was in her mind. Her mother liked to spoil and look after her, and often there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Once she entered the kitchen, she saw her father and brother sitting at the bench, talking. It was shocking to see them with each other, but not because they didn't spend time together. In actual fact, they spent most of their time together. What always shocked Isabelle every time she looked at them together was that they looked the same, except her father's hair was greying and his face was much more worn than his son's.

"Hey guys! Look who's here?" Sydney beamed at them, and they looked up to see Isabelle.

Iz watched as a mixture of pity and sorrow filled their eyes as they looked at her, and she bit back tears as she watched them try to cover their true emotions with smiles.

"Hey honey," her father said, stepping forward and giving her a big, loving hug.

Next came Jack. "Hey sis," he awkwardly hugged her also. He looked as though he had something else to say, some other comment to make, but he never said it.

"I nearly have the roast done, so why don't you guys head to the table outside and I'll bring it out when it's done?" Sydney suggested, and the boys nodded and moved to walk outside.

Though upset she may have been, Isabelle still knew what was expected of her. As a child, she and her mother had always made dinner together while the boys waited for it and talked. Unless it was barbecue night, in which case the boys had total responsibility for everything. (These nights were also sometimes simply known as cereal night, as that was what ended up being eaten for dinner once Michael had set the barbecue on fire and Jack had accidentally tipped the 'salad' all over the floor."

"I'll stay and help you, Mom," Isabelle gave a small, half hearted smile and moved toward the cupboard where the aprons usually were.

"No, no, love. You go and sit outside with your father and Jack," Sydney ordered, trying to usher her daughter out of the kitchen.

"Mom, we always cook together-"

"Not tonight. Tonight, you just relax, sweetheart. Go on outside," Sydney ordered her once more, and though her tone was gentle and caring, there was a fairly stern and determined look in her eyes that made Isabelle think twice about arguing.

"Alright. But if you need any help, just yell." She turned and walked out the back door and onto the patio.

"You're joining us squirt?" Jack asked teasingly, and Isabelle fought to not roll her eyes. Jack was now 20, and she was 24, nearly 25, and he had called her squirt ever since he has gotten taller than her, which had been when he was only 15 and she was 19. She was pretty tall, but he was even taller.

"Yeah, Mom won't let me help out in the kitchen," she explained, though she didn't understand why.

"She wants to give you a break, love," her father told her, and smiled at her as she took a seat next to him and lent on his should lovingly.

"Yeah," Isabelle acknowledged his comment, but wasn't quite sure what to say in return. "So, umm, Jack, how are things going for you?"

Her brother gave a grin and launched into a detailed description of how he spent his time. "I went out with some friends the other day, and had a lot of fun there. We went to that new restaurant that's down near Jay's place, and we went crazy! And not normal crazy, like..."

Isabelle smiled, and nodded, pretending to listen. She did love her brother, and she wanted to be interested in what he was saying, and she wanted to be able to interact with him properly, but there was always something in the way. He was in his second year of CIA training, and it looked like he was going to become a great agent.

When Isabelle turned 16, her parents had decided it was time to tell her why they had moved around so much for the first part of her life, and when they told her about the CIA, she laughed and didn't believe them. But she soon learned just how true it was.

They also told Jack on his 16th birthday, and he had been excited and immediately begun to dream about a day when he would be just like his parents.

And the way things were looking, he would be just as good an agent as his parents.

"Hey guys, the food's ready! Michael, could you help me bring in some of this stuff?"

Michael smiled and stood, immediately following his wife into the kitchen to help her, and Sydney smiled as she watched.

"What?" Jack asked, looking amused.

"What do you mean, 'what'?" Isabelle asked in return.

"You sighed," he explained.

"So?" Isabelle queried, eyebrows raised.

"It was a special kind of sigh. The kind that you do when you're daydreaming and thinking about something important."

"Your point is...?" she trailed off questioningly.

"My point is that you are daydreaming about something. What's on your mind sis?" He asked her, but her reply was cut off before it even began as her parents walked out, setting bowls of salad onto the table, before walking back inside to get more food.

"I was just thinking about Mom and Dad," Isabelle told him.

"What about 'em?"

"Well, they are so happy. I mean, they hardly ever argue, or fight..." she trailed off.

"Well, they're in love, so when they do argue, it doesn't matter," he informed her, shrugging as he did so. He leaned forward and tried to grab a tomato out of the salad bowl in front of him.

Unfortunately for him, Sydney and Michael walked out of the house at this moment. "Jack, get your dirty hands out of the food and use the tools!" His mother commanded. "And, you could at least wait until all the food is on the table, and we're all seated! God, it's like you were raised by wolves!"

The couple set down the remaining food and sauces before seating themselves, and Isabelle watched as her father pulled the chair out for her mother, looking very gentleman-like.

"Why thank you, kind sir," her mother thanked him, smiling happily at him. Sydney then saw Isabelle's face, and frowned. "Is everything alright love?"

_No, everything is not alright! I am falling apart, I have lost my best friend, and now for the first time in my life I wish I had someone..._Isabelle stopped her thoughts. "I am fine," she lied, and smiled, though it was a very sad smile, and her mother was not convinced in the least, but thankfully let it be for the time being.

"Anyway, let's eat," her father said, and, before Isabelle knew what was happening, Jack had piled all the bread rolls and meat into his plate, and piling the sauces onto his plate by the bottle.

"Woah! Jack, would you like some dinner with your sauce?" Michael asked cheekily, grinning, and his son rolled his eyes and began to say something through his mouth full of food.

"Jack, eat with your mouth shut, and don't ever talk with your mouth full!" Sydney ordered, horrified by her son's manners, or lack thereof.

The agent-in-training finished his food with a gulp before speaking. "I am 20 years old, Mom. Not a kid anymore."

"If you're not a kid anymore, then maybe you could move out. You know, for the sake of independence," Michael suggested with a smirk.

"You see, I would move out, but I know you guys would be lost without me," he explained. "So, for the sake of my dear, wonderful parents, I shall remain."

"Of course, the free food, clothing and shelter is just a bonus," Sydney grumbled, rolling her eyes.

"Of course," Jack confirmed, looking serious.

Whilst they were having their rather amusing conversation, Isabelle sat in her place, holding back her tears. _How can they laugh and smile? They knew Sam too!_ She struggled to keep her mouth shut and she looked down at her plate and began to roll the cherry tomatoes around with her fork, but she didn't eat anything. She really couldn't bring herself to eat or drink, or enjoy anything at that moment.

Soon enough, dinner was over they all moved into the living room for 'family' time, minus Sydney, of course, who was icing the cake she had made especially for the occasion.

Isabelle sat on the couch, and watched her father and brother joke around and laugh. They made a few attempts to include her with their fun, but she declined all invitations.

Eventually, Sydney walked back into the room. "The cake's ready! Michael, could you go get the ice cream and serve it?"

"Sure hon," came the reply and Isabelle's eyes followed her parents and watched as her father gave her mother's cheek a quick but loving kiss as he walked by her and through the doorway.

It was then that Sydney spotted her daughter as she sat there, looking sad and lost. "Jack, could you go help your father for me?" she asked her son, and he, being a very bright lad, knew why Sydney wanted him out of the room.

"Sure thing," he said happily as he jumped up from the couch. "Wouldn't want him to burn the ice cream, would we?" Jack grinned at his mother and sister before leaving.

Sydney looked at her daughter, who sat on the chair, playing with the band-aids on her hands.

"What happened, Iz?" Sydney asked gently as she sat down beside her daughter on the lounge.

"Nothing," Isabelle replied, putting her hands on her lap, palms down.

"If nothing happened, then why do you have band-aid mittens?" Sydney put and arm around her daughter's shoulders and gave her an encouraging smile.

"I was just upset, and my nails were longer than I thought they were. I was up late last the night after Sam's funeral, and I must have dug my nails in too hard. I only noticed in the morning though, and I have been treating the scratches properly, so don't worry."

"Can I have a look, love?" Sydney asked tenderly.

Isabelle sighed. "It's not that bad," she assured her mother.

"I know, but I want to have a look at what you did to yourself," Sydney insisted, though she went about it gently.

"Fine," Isabelle finally agreed, knowing it was pointless to argue with her mother.

Sydney reached over and pulled hr daughter's hands into her own lap, and lifted the edge of one of the band-aids. "Oh Iz! I though you said it wasn't that bad!" she exclaimed as examined the wounds.

There were angry, open marks on the marring the palms, and the skin around them was pink. It looked incredibly painful, and Sydney nearly teared up at the thought of her daughter having to go through something like that.

"Oh, God, Iz! What were you thinking about that made you so stressed you had to do this to yourself!"

"I didn't do it deliberately, it was just upset and I balled my hands into fists a little too hard..." she trailed off.

"What were you thinking about, Iz?" Sydney asked demandingly.

"Mom, unless you have forgotten, I lost my best friend last week. I think that entitles me to a couple nights up late crying!" she yelled furiously, and her mother looked shocked at her reaction.

"I am sorry, Iz. I thought you wouldn't want to talk about it, so-"

"Well, you were right. I don't want to talk about it," Isabelle announced to her mother curtly, before standing and leaving the room.

Sydney soon followed her out of the lounge, and they walked past Jack and Michael as Isabelle headed for the door.

"Iz, please, I am sorry if I upset you, I just want to look after you. Please, stay, sweetheart!"

Isabelle ignored her mother's cries and left the house, storming over to her car. In her fury, she ignored the pain of her palms, and tugged the car door open before jumping in. She saw her mother standing at the front door, watching her, and her father soon came to join her, looking confused at what was happening.

She backed the car it, ignoring the twinge in her heart as she did so, and, with one, final twist of the steering wheel and press of her foot to the pedal, she was away from her family, and the pain they gave her.

But the problem was, now she felt even worse.

* * *

><p>Later that night, Isabelle sat on the bench in her kitchen, changing the band-aids she had on her palms. The current ones came off easily as they had become loose over the last few hours.<p>

She pulled others out, and placed them over her palms, but they refused to stick. She pressed harder and harder in an attempt to get them to stay, but all that achieved was a lot more pain. As far as the adhesiveness of the band-aids went, no progress was made.

Isabelle cradled her mangled hands in her lap, and bit her lip as, for what seemed to be the millionth time that week, tears spilled over from her cheeks and she began to sob, both from physical and emotional pain.

She got no sleep that night.

* * *

><p><strong>So, there is the next chapter. I am very sorry that it is so short compared to other chapters I have done in the past, but, well, I have lots of big ideas but I didn't necessarily want to introduce them in the second chapter. <strong>

**Anyway, please leave a review and let me know what you think! I can't improve if you don't. **

**By the way, I know that people are reading this story, as I have had a look at the hits and visitors. If you read this, PLEASE, PLEASE, leave a review and let me know what you think!**

**Also, I just want to make it clear, if I didn't already, that Isabelle didn't cut her palms deliberately, and the scratches in the skin are from her nails digging in. I just thought that would add an extra something to the story, and show you just how much pain and grief she is dealing with. It's a wonder she's still functioning!**

**Also, for any who are confused, the reason Sam meant so much to her was because he was a great guy and a good FRIEND, nothing more. He was married with kids, so Iz was more like a daughter or a niece to him. **


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